I Still Stayed
by p-attinson
Summary: "Could you please write a fic about Sherlock and John in the early days when John is finding out about what Sherlock means by his bad habits?" A request on Tumblr.


**The first month: **

John had noticed that Sherlock wasn't exactly the easiest bloke to get along with the moment he first met him. He could do a little deducing himself, you know. And what he found was that Sherlock Holmes was, though extraordinary, quite standoff-ish.

Sherlock Holmes was an eccentric man. (was he even a man? Did he have feelings?) Their first case was rather inspiring to John's opinion of him already. "That was ages ago!" Sherlock had said about the loss of a woman's child.

But John decided that his new flatmate wasn't all that bad. Even though he'd play violin (very badly) during the long hours of the night and though bloody thumbs usually turned up in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, John grew to like Sherlock Holmes. He even learned to remain content after the first month.

**The fourth month: **

By this time John Watson was getting really sick of Sherlock's nonsense.

In the past four months he had almost died thrice. All events which led to Sherlock's heroic, but late, entrance in most every situation John's mouth was muzzled or his hands tied to the back of a chair. And each and every time they arrived back at 221B he noticed that Sherlock would collapse onto his regular spot of the living room as if nothing ever happened.

"No need to thank me." Sherlock mumbled after a particularly long night while angling his hands against his chin and staring at the space above John's head.

John situated in his stance, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. "I already thanked you." He replied, though it sounded like a question.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Did you?"

**The eighth month:**

-was the month that John realized that Sherlock liked to smoke.

A lot. Probably more than he should. He realized that, yes he was a recovering chain smoker, but hadn't really gotten over his abuse of the substance. Sometimes John would find his lanky friend carding through the flat and throwing various objects just to find a hit.

John came home one day from the shopping and upstairs he found that Sherlock had completely destroyed the flat. Vandalized it. His jaw dropped and he took a step back.

"What in the bloody hell…." John mumbled under his breath. "Sherlock?!"

From the kitchen Sherlock came leaping in decadent joy. In his right hand he held a pack of cigarettes. The other, a lighter. "Oh, John! There you are. Glad you're home. Did you remember the avocados?"

John blinked once or twice and set the groceries on the floor. "They aren't in season…" he trailed off. "Sherlock, what did you do to the flat?"

Sherlock sighed. Probably because of the lack of avocados in a ten mile radius. He was quiet for a moment. "I really need those avocados." is all he replied.

The shorter man drew in a deep breath before picking up his bags and heading towards the kitchen. Hopefully he wouldn't find any heads in the while putting away the food this time.

**The last time they saw each other: **

John stared at his best friend.

Lifeless. Cold. Dark. All dried out. In a casket.

And in a suit. A suit. For goodness-sakes, who thought the idea to put Sherlock Holmes in a suit for the rest of his dead existence was a good idea?

John gaped at the body. It was scheduled to be closed casket, what, with the gashes and all. But Mycroft had been able to pull a few strings in order to let John say his private farewells. John didn't know if he was thankful or a bit frustrated by it. After all, did Mycroft expect John would wish to be alone with the body of his best friend?

John realized then, in fear, that he hadn't said goodbye to his friend at all. And all of the daft things Sherlock used to do - all of disgusting habits and all of the symphonies he composed could never replace the fact that John loved Sherlock.

John straightened the collar on his best friend's neck. "You were yourself, that's obvious." John mumbled, tears stinging in his eyes. "But I still stayed."

And that says a lot. At least, John think it did.


End file.
